


Thank You, Perfect Spouse

by dorkilysoulless (custodian)



Series: Thank You, Perfect Spouse [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awesome Misha, F/M, Frottage, How is Awesome Misha Already a Tag?, Jared Padalecki's Ridiculously Enormous Hands, Jensen's from Narnia, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Open Marriage, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Secret Relationship, So Fictional I Cannot Even, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/custodian/pseuds/dorkilysoulless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prank that is not a prank prompts Jared and Jensen to bring Misha in on a secret about their working relationship.  Misha responds the best way he knows how: by calling his brilliant spouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank You, Perfect Spouse

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am a lying liar who lies. Seriously. If any of this ever happened, I will eat a hat of my own choosing. And probably ask for pictures.

When Misha walks in on Jared and Jensen making out on one of the beds in the motel room set, his first thought is that it’s a prank. 

Like, okay, it’s not like married people can’t work things out in their own relationships to accommodate some extra-curricular activity -- hi, Vicki _literally wrote that book_ , and they’ve been rocking that action together for a while now -- but Misha knows his life is not like Jared or Jensen’s lives, and that’s totally okay.

Plus, it’s J2. So, you know, it’s clearly a prank. They probably heard him come in for his script and thought, “Hey, let’s freak Misha out!” and then picked a convenient surface.

The only solution is to one-up them, so he just leans against one of the flats, casual as anything, gets out his phone like he’s about to start taking pictures, and says, “Man, I should be tweeting this.” 

And it’s weird that Jensen would startle like that, or that Jared would actually fall off the bed, because one would think they’d be better prepared if they were pranking him. He tries to write it off as Jared’s literally being terrible at fitting into the world around him even on good days, and Jensen not hearing him walk up. He steps in close, slaps Jensen on the arm, and grins at Jared. “Good one, guys! You should definitely do that onstage at...which con is it next? Chicago?”

Jared manages an “Um,” and Jensen kind of looks like he wants to die. 

Thing is, Misha’s a smart guy and well-acclimated to high weirdness, and he knows that the expressions on both of their faces are not the expressions anyone in this interaction ought to be wearing. 

It occurs to him that maybe he’s fucked up, and that he shouldn’t have seen this. 

Ever. At all. 

Misha swallows, drops the smile. He reaches out to Jared, to help him up. 

“Do Gen and Danneel know?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says.

“And they’re cool with it?” 

Both of them nod. 

“Oh, okay,” Misha says, entirely relieved that he isn’t going to have to be angry at either of them -- he likes Gen and Danneel -- but it kind of stings that they didn’t see fit to give him the memo. 

Not that they owe him the memo, but of all people, he really ought to be on the list of people who know, right? So he feels a hurt, and then a guilty for feeling hurt, and...well, he feels what he feels and he’ll sit and work it out later. Right now he needs to apologize and disengage. 

“Guys, I’m really sorry. I’ll just...” He motions at the way out, and turns to go, but Jensen catches his arm. 

“Could you do us a solid and not actually, uh, tweet this or whatever? This thing, it’s kinda private.”

And shit, that really does hurt. Misha gets it. He does. But Jensen thinking he has to ask? That’s like getting punched in the gut.

“Jensen, if you think I’m that guy, I’m really sorry I gave you that impression. You’ve got nothing to worry about. It won’t leave the room.”

Jensen lets out a not just a breath, but a whole body of tension with it. Relief. Actual worry. “Thanks.” 

* * * 

Okay, so Misha takes it out of the room, but only to tell Vicki, and Vicki doesn’t count.

Vicki and him, they’re separate people except that they’re halves and she’s smarter than he is in so many ways, so of course he’s going to call her from his flat in Vancouver and lay it out to see what she thinks. 

Not in a judgemental way, because that’s not his business. Just in a processing and moving forward way, and maybe because Vicki will make him feel better about accidentally hurting his friends, and feeling jealous and left out of the loop.

Vicki is perfect. She listens, and talks him down without invalidating the hurt, and reminds him that no, this isn’t about him. It’s about them. And he needs to be there for _them_. The door is open now, and if they want him in, they’ll let him in.

“Just be their friend,” is what she tells him, because she is the best spouse, and knows him and how much he needs to just have a direction to go in, sometimes. “Oh, and if they invite you in, bring back good stories.”

They laugh about that. It feels good. 

Talking with her makes sitting with it easier, too. Like, he can just be and let his brain and his heart work out all the feelings in his chest and his stomach while he meditates on his breath. 

In and out, nothing special.

Things are as they are, and he is as he is, and that’s how it is, and yeah, it’s good. He goes to bed feeling okay, supported, and prepared to deal with any fallout. He’s a friend, he will be a friend, and whatever happens, he will have done right by others.

* * * 

At work the next day he leaves a box of animal crackers on Jensen’s trailer steps, and a white chocolate Kit-Kat on Jared’s on the way to his own. It feels important to do a kindness here, just to make sure they know he’s still bearing good will, and to adjust the trajectory of inevitable awkwardness.

Otherwise, Misha treats the day like any other day. He smiles when he spots Jensen eating the crackers, and Jared actually gives him one of those ridiculous rib-crusher hugs, and that’s all the acknowledgement he needs that whatever he blundered into last night, things are either fine or on their way to it.

They work. They wait between takes. Jared ties Jensen’s shoelaces to his chair when he dozes off. 

Typical day. Busy day, and long because they have to go into the night, but lots of good work done. He heads home that night feeling about a thousand times more human than he started.

“How’d it go?” Vicki asks him on the phone that night. He’s in bed, and it’s late enough he feels badly to keep her up, but she’s awake anyway. “Got any nice stories for me?”

Misha grins. “Only that carbohydrates heal all wounds.”

“A man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Are you suggesting I’ve got ulterior motives?” He’s teasing, except he isn’t, except he is because he likes the cute faces she makes when she talks about him and other guys. 

“I’m actually picturing you scaling them like a mountain.”

“I should never have said yes to working with taller men.”

“Aw, but you’re all so stackable.”

He hums assent. “I do like stacking things. Lumber. Um, boxes. Stacky things.”

“If you three get it on, does that mean I get to make out with Gen and Danneel?” 

Misha laughs. “This is like talking to Tumblr.” 

Across the line, he can make out the sound of Vicki’s laptop starting up. 

“Oh shit, Vic, tell me you’re not going to Tumblr.”

“Just to spectate!” 

He groans. “Okay, fine. But link me the good stuff.” 

* * *

In the morning, he’s got six e-mails from his glorious spouse containing: 

\- A link to a set of truly ingenious and deeply pornographic Photoshop images of “himself” (read: other people with his head attached) with wings on and not much else. ( _WHEN DID YOU START SHAVING THAT? - v._ )  
\- A link to a story about him falling down a well of all things, and being rescued by a version of Jensen who talks curiously like Dean Winchester except when he’s clearly reverted to his Days gig. ( _DOES THIS MAKE JARED LASSIE? - v._ )  
\- A link to a photo of the three of them at JIB pretending to make out. ( _WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME ABOUT THIS? - v._ )  
\- A link to set of Supernatural-related kale recipes. ( _CORRUPTING AMERICA’S YOUTH EXCEPT I THINK THE OP IS AUSTRALIAN. - v._ )  
\- A blank e-mail with an attached picture of herself in nothing but a pair of his underwear and the words “LIE BACK AND THINK OF JENSEN” written across her chest in lipstick.

He nearly chokes on his tea.

_Tumblr’s a lot more interesting these days than I thought, but you didn’t send the link for that last one so I could reblog it_ , he texts her. His phone chirps back almost immediately. 

_Tell me I’m wonderful_.

_You are the best spouse. My love for you is infinite. And Jared says he feels left out._

She sends him a picture of herself making a kiss face, accompanied by a middle finger. She’s dressed now. He can sort of see Maison in the background.

_Channel my infinite love to M and W._

_Done. Go run._

He sends her a kiss-pic of his own, then does what he’s told. 

* * *

Jared catches him on the lot. Jensen’s on set doing some Dean scenes, and the rest of them are kind of filtering in and out of the sound stage between takes because the weather’s gorgeous. 

“You got a couple of minutes?”

“Yeah, sure.” Misha grabs a bottle of water from craft services. “Here?”

“Trailer’s better.”

Misha shrugs. “Sure.”

They make small talk on the way, mostly about the kids. It’s not until they’re both settled that Jared takes a breath, like he’s getting ready to say a Thing that is Possibly Serious. 

“Jay and I were talking about the other night.” 

“Okay.” Misha checks his breathing. Attends to it.

“We figured you deserve to know what the deal is. Not just because you walked in, though I guess that’s kind of what pulled the trigger.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. It’s not actually my business if you guys are dating.”

“We’re not really...dating,” Jared says, squinching his eyebrows like he wants to get the right words in the right order. “More like friends with long-term benefits.”

“Long-term?”

“I think I got there before Danneel did by a couple of months.”

Misha whistles. “Damn.” 

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “So, you know, it’s just a thing. Danneel’s always known, Gen found out pretty early because she made a joke about having a threesome with us and I was drunk.”

“I can understand why you’d keep it discreet.” Misha swallows his water. “I mean, obviously I’m the last one to judge, and it’s not even my business, but I’m glad you guys are being ethical about it. I’m sorry I put you in an awkward position.”

Jared smiles, kind of blushes a little. “Oh, I’m okay with you knowing. I kind of wanted to tell you after I found out about you and Vicki. Jen’s kind of sensitive about it, though.”

“Gen your wife or --” 

“Jensen. Sorry.”

“Ah. That must be convenient in bed.” 

Jared actually blushes. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Wait,” Misha says, eyes widening. “Did you three --”

“Four, and yes, and it was at my wedding.”

Misha claps his hand over his mouth. “Oh my god.”

“I know.”

“But seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” Jared looks kind of giddy, like he’s clearly excited to have someone to talk to about this. “Like, the honeymoon was just me and Genevieve, but Jensen was hammered and had this crazy thing about them giving us their blessing, and it kind of went from there.”

Misha just shakes his head. He’s gone from feeling like the odd kid with the great sex life to reeling that this has literally been going on the whole time they’ve known each other without him knowing. It’s a lot of fun as a sensation, but the cognitive dissonance is kicking his ass. 

“Is he going to kill you for telling me this?”

“Uh...probably not.” Jared rubs the back of his neck eyes suddenly very interested in the floor.

Misha smirks. “Probably?”

“Well, that’s the actual thing we wanted to talk about. Like, this was the set-up conversation.” 

“Oh.”

_Hello, penny. What a shiny penny you are, dropping just there, all pretty like that, in my head._

“It’s not a relationship. Jensen’s not even, like, bi or anything. Well, not officially. It’s complicated or something. But we like you, and if you want in, we’re down, and our wives are down. No strings. Just friends.”

Misha thinks it over. Like, actually thinks it over for real, because before now he hadn’t actually thought it over at all except that Vicki thought it was funny in the hypothetical.

She would probably be into it. He can probably say yes and get away with it. But the hypothetical is one country, and the actual is another, and they don’t usually sleep around away from each other because their third is always something shared and special and about them as much as it is about somebody else.

“I need to ask Vicki,” he decides. “Like, really talk to her about it instead of me core dumping about feeling bad about upsetting you guys like I did the other night.”

“Yeah,” Jared says, like it’s absolutely the most reasonable thing in the world. “Of course. That’s a total given. Not least because she’s invited too if she wants to be.”

Misha has a sudden vision of himself and Vicki in bed with Jared and has to adjust his seating posture. And attend to his breathing. And probably not, like, look too closely at Jared’s really impressive hands and think about how those would fit in. 

Which is probably exactly the wrong choice of words, because that is a very distracting image in and of itself.

* * *

He is sitting in the middle of the room, on the floor, eating the last bits of an undressed salad with his fingers when he calls Vicki on speaker. It means he can pretend she’s sitting behind him or something, which is good, because he likes to be in her presence when important things are happening.

“So you know that thing that happened?”

“The Jared-and-Jensen thing?”

He inspects a piece of lettuce, noticing its texture and the way the light hits it. “That is exactly the thing.” He pays attention to the way it crunches in his teeth and the flavors of its skin and juice. Lettuce is actually pretty interesting to him. Everyone thinks lettuce is simple, but there’s still a lot going on with a piece of lettuce.

So, you know, appropriate. 

“Perfect spouse, did you call or e-mail or otherwise contact either of the Jays about the thing?”

“I did not. You have stories?”

He picks up a couple of spinach leaves and a piece of radish, pops them into his mouth. “I have story, singular, and a serious conversation. Does that count?”

“This counts.”

Misha scoops up the last of the greens in his fingers, considers them, and then decides he can talk around them. “So Jared asked me over to his trailer today, where I learned many things, not the least of which being that there was a four-way-rhumba at the Padalecki wedding.”

“Involving the best man?”

“There is a reason they’re going to give you a doctorate.” Misha cracks his knuckles. “How did we not figure this out? Shouldn’t we have some kind of polyamorous gaydar thing going for us?”

She snickers. “I told you when we met them Jared seemed grabby.”

“Yeah, but he’s grabby with everyone, and Jensen and Danneel don’t give off that vibe at all. And that’s the story, which leads to the serious conversation about how we’re invited to make their not-dating-fuckpool-of-four a party of six, either singularly or in combination.”

“Ooh. Say those words again.”

Misha blinks. “Non-dating-fuckpool?”

“Mmm.”

“You’re imagining an actual pool.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I am now, Vic.” It’s actually not a bad image. “We’d probably need a pool if it’s all six of us.”

“All six of us sounds pretty ambitious.”

He lays back on the floor, stretches carefully. “I get the impression it’s usually the Jays with their wives, or the two of them on their own, and a little bit of swapping with the occasional special occasion.”

“So in practice, it’d be mostly you and them.” 

“Right,” he says, and sighs. “And I don’t know, because usually with us it’s us. It’ll be weird to play without you.”

“Yeah, it will.” She pauses, and he hears some noise, like maybe she’s going through a drawer looking for something. “But do you want to?” 

“Socially? I could go either way. Sexually, they are both very attractive, and Jared’s hands are incredibly distracting right now, and we all already have very minimal personal space around each other. Emotionally, I look at it, and all I can think is that I only want to do this if you like the idea and want it to happen. Like, I won’t act on anything less than an enthusiastic yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because I like to make you feel good, and I won’t enjoy it otherwise.”

“That’s very sweet,” she says, clearly delighted with him, like he’s answered a complicated riddle. “Now go fuck your friends.”

* * *

The crew is re-setting a stunt when Jensen sits down next to him. It’s a darkish corner of the set, and quiet. Not as private as a trailer, but as good as they’re going to get until they break for a while.

“So I guess Jared filled you in.” 

“Yeah.”

“What’s Vicki say?”

Misha gets out his phone, pulls up his e-mail and shows him the photo of her egging him on -- she’s good with him sharing it -- and hands it to Jensen. It’s a miracle he does it straight-faced. 

“Whoa. Uh,” Jensen laughs. “Okay, then.”

Misha likes how different Jensen is from Dean. He’s masculine, sure, but he’s also a little shy -- well, as shy as actors get, at least -- and without other people to bring him out Misha’s pretty sure he’d be kind of reserved. He’s the kind of guy who deals with his nerves by using them for fuel, and he plays off people. Once he gets started, though, he’s funny. 

And devious, because he knows how to get someone to like him. 

Jensen mirrors people. It’s an acting trick for building chemistry, and it works, and before you know it, you like him enough that suddenly there’s this whole different Jensen to get to know underneath it all. 

“I’m sorry about what I said the other night, by the way,” he says, watching the crew work. “I didn’t really think.”

Misha shrugs. “You looked pretty freaked out. If I’d known--”

“Right, and you’re exactly the guy I should have mentioned it to, but by the time I knew you well enough, there’s no real way to drop that in casual conversation. Like, ‘Oh hey, Mish. Did you see the new pages? Oh, and by the way Jared and I have this four-way swinger thing happening.” Jared shakes his head. “Actually, you know, that probably would have worked pretty well.”

“I wasn’t going to say it.” 

Jensen gives him a smirky side-eye. “Oh thanks, _Cas._ ”

Misha elbows him. Jensen grabs the arm and they tussle briefly before he lets Misha go. 

“We really should have told you.”

“Might have got Vic and me in on it sooner that way,” Misha says, and considers Jensen’s body in ways he hasn’t done in a while. 

He jokes that the reason he took the role was that Dean Winchester has a nice ass, but Jensen’s got plenty to recommend him in that extremely pretty guy next door kind of way. He’s tall, nice eyes, grounded in easy solidity. Misha guesses he’s the kind of guy to just come apart in bed in gorgeous ways. 

As much as Misha’s kind of obsessed with Jared’s hands at the moment, getting his own hands (and his mouth, and the rest of him) on Jensen also sounds pretty amazing.

The bell interrupts that train of thought. 

“Time to make the donuts,” Jensen quips. 

* * *

They potluck.

It’s Jensen’s idea, and kind of charmingly suburban, and Misha keeps texting with Vicki about how awesome it would be to show up in an apron and 50’s housewife dress for the occasion. 

Like, it’s not as if he doesn’t have one, right? And she could overnight it.

Instead, he shows up in a blue short-sleeved button-up, worn open over a plain green ringer tee, and a pair of jeans he knows Jensen would probably refer to as “beaters” on account of the fact that they’re just on the right side of coming apart. 

Comfortable stuff. Stuff that’s easy to take off.

Jared’s the one who answers the door even though it’s Jensen’s place. 

“Whoa. Crockpot.”

“Shredded chicken,” he says, and follows Jared to the kitchen. “I brought tortillas. Jensen said he had lettuce and stuff. “Where’s Jensen?”

“Beer run. And, uh, salsa run.”

Misha lifts an eyebrow. “You forgot the salsa?”

“I kinda knocked it off the counter. I think we got all the glass, but--”

“Good to know.” Misha opens up the fridge and pulls out a new-ish head of lettuce and a slightly less attractive tomato. He wonders if this new arrangement will give him some sort of latitude where Jensen’s general ill-treatment of perfectly good produce is concerned. “Is there a cutting board around here?”

Jared digs it out of the cupboard. Misha starts shredding lettuce. 

“Wow. This is domestic,” Jensen says when he comes in a few minutes later, carrying bags full of not only beer and salsa but tequila and margarita mix, limes, sour cream, and cheese. “Oh good. You used the tomato.”

Jared laughs. Misha fake-glowers. 

Dinner is easy with small-talk and chatter about how things are going on set. Misha starts with a beer, but Jared wheedles him into doing a couple of tequila shots, and by the time they’ve all filtered out of the dining nook and onto the sofa, they’re all pleasantly buzzed. 

“This couch is too small,” Jared says. One of his hands is already resting on the back of Misha’s neck. His thumb strokes lightly right where skull meets spine. It’s nice. He feels a little lightheaded, like the reality is sinking in. It’s a reality he wants to be in, but that doesn’t mean he’s not having any anxiety about it. 

His mouth goes dry, and he swallows, trying not to let on that maybe he’s not as relaxed as the Jays are when this is supposed to be his area of expertise.

Jensen snorts. “Couch is fine, Jay. You’re just huge.”

“Yeah, well, if we want Misha to see exactly how huge I am, we’re either doing it on the floor or in your bed. Pick one.”

“Misha votes bed,” he pipes up before Jensen has a chance to decide for them. He thanks whatever particular bit of the universe that presides over these particular affairs that his voice doesn’t break. “Softer surface, more options,” he offers by way of explanation. 

“Told you we should have mentioned this to him sooner,” Jensen says as he pushes up off the sofa. 

Even so, three men their size on a queen bed is still a little cozy. Not bad-cozy or sardine-cozy, Misha thinks, but he’s the littlest guy here, and his agent rounds him up to six feet. Jared alone could take up all the space if he wanted to.

“It’s a good thing we’re getting friendly,” Jensen murmurs into Jared’s neck, and shoves him down onto the bed. He climbs onto Jared’s lap and leans down for a kiss. 

Misha watches from his own spot, kneeling on the mattress, and hopes not to hyperventilate. His heart wants to beat its way out of his chest because this is new and weird and very likely to change some fundamental things about his professional life. He wants this, sure, but he’s nervous, too. He’s always nervous with new partners, and usually Vicki is around to keep him grounded.

Maybe he should have kept doing shots with Jared.

He raises his palm up, kisses Vicki’s ring for good luck (and moral support), and then runs his fingers through Jensen’s hair. Jensen sits up, grinning, and presses his mouth to Misha’s. 

Jensen tastes good, like margarita salt and tequila, and while it takes them a second to figure out how their mouths fit. Once they get it, Misha’s nerves start to soften toward excitement. He’s known Jensen for years, and they’re close, and it’s good. They are good here, together, with their mouths. Oh yes.

Below them, he hears Jared murmur a warm “goddamn,” and then feels a big, warm palm slide up onto his thigh. Misha breaks away from Jensen and leans down to complete the circuit. 

Jared’s kiss is less gentle. He cups Misha’s jaw like he’ll try to escape and practically kisses the breath out of him, urgent where Jensen was curious. 

It might be that kind of threesome, Misha thinks, where they’ll pass him back and forth like a shiny toy for each others’ pleasure. It might be the kind of threesome where they’ll put him in the middle because they both want everything all at once. It might be the kind where he’s a gift to one of them from the other. Or maybe one of them has always wanted to be in a middle that hasn’t existed until now. 

Jared’s thumb slides under Misha’s jaw and he pushes up just a little. His mouth trails down Misha’s jaw to his throat, leaving a trail of soft kisses and light bites. Nothing that would mark.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Jensen murmurs. 

Oh, and the way Jared _moves_. Even pinned under Jensen’s hips, he’s sinuous, and there’s something kind of dangerous in his eyes, like he’s channeling that soulless version of Sam, rippling with barely-contained heat as Jensen slides a hand under his t-shirt. Misha’s not sure he could be alone in a room with that look without Jensen there as a buffer and not feel like prey.

“So I know what Jared likes, but Misha, you’re new.”

“He likes it when I bite him,” Jared says with a wide grin. 

Misha looks between them and swallows. No, Jensen’s not a buffer. He’s the quiet smolder to Jared’s naked flame. 

Jensen scoots back down Jared’s thighs and motions him over. “Get over here. Face Jared.”

“Just a sec,” Jared says, and adjusts his cock in his jeans so that it’s up against his stomach instead of somewhere it’s going to get trapped. “Okay. Get on.”

He scoots over onto the mattress and mounts Jared’s hips. Jensen nestles in closer behind him, brushing lips and stubble against the back of Misha’s neck. He wraps his arms around Misha’s waist. He’s warm and solid, and Misha presses into his touch and turns his head for a kiss.

“Looks like kissing’s on the list, too,” Jared says. “And he’s a cuddler.”

“And you missed your calling as a log flume,” Jensen teases, breaking the kiss so he can touch Misha’s lips with his fingertips. “So’ve you done this, Mish? Two guys?”

“Not even once,” he admits. He holds off on admitting that there may have been a couple of incidents with strap-ons that might be functionally similar, though, mostly because he doesn’t want to ruin the fact that the two of them are almost certainly about to decide they’re going to blow his mind.

Jared runs his hands up Misha’s thighs. “Awesome.” He takes Misha’s right arm by the wrist and slips Misha’s hand up under the hem of his shirt where Jensen’s was a moment ago. 

“Jared’s a touch slut,” Jensen chuckles. “Give a guy a couple of massages and he’ll do anything.”

“Not anything.”

“Definitely anything. Klondike Bar levels of anything.” Misha can’t see, but he knows from Jensen’s tone that he’s smirking. 

Misha glides his fingers over the soft skin of Jared’s stomach and watches him savor the sensation, eyes closed and lips parted. It’s fascinating, because it’s not like they haven’t touched before. They’re all on set day in and out, constantly touching, really tactile. This is Jared without the filter, though, here for pleasure and throwing himself into it with total abandon.

On impulse, he reaches for Jared’s left hand. He massages it, pressing his thumbs into the palm, the mound of the thumb, stroking the fingers. He brings Jared’s hand up and kisses the space where his palm and ring finger meet, lips touching the ring Jared shares with Genevieve like he did with his and Vicki’s, then brushing the fingers of his hand against his lips. He nibbles lightly at Jared’s fingertips, kisses them, lets his tongue tease just a little at the pads. 

“Starting to think you’ve got an oral fixation there, Mish,” Jensen murmurs, still just holding him, stroking little circles against his skin. 

“You’re not entirely wrong,” he answers against Jared’s palm. “But it’s more of a Jared’s hands fixation at the moment.” 

“Not complaining,” Jared says from his spot on the bed. 

Misha nuzzles down Jared’s wrist, scratching at the soft skin with his stubble. Jared plays with Misha’s hair where it meets his fingertips, just behind his ear.

Jensen loosens his embrace and slides sideways off of Jared’s thighs to lay down beside him. He doesn’t waste time kissing Jared, and Misha can’t look away because it’s clear that however they’re characterizing this thing between them, and however the two of them might identify, they are both so very into this moment and each other. 

It makes him really happy, actually, to see his friends like this. He can’t suppress the grin that spreads across his face. 

Jensen smiles up at him. “See something you like?”

“I’m just taking notes for my Wincest fanfiction,” he teases, and bends down to taste the space where Jared’s jaw meets his neck. Jensen snickers. Jared makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan and digs his hands into Misha’s shirts, holding him tight against his body. He grinds his hips up into Misha’s and Misha reciprocates, rolling his own hips in ways that are maybe a little feminine while he bites at Jared’s shoulder through the cotton of his shirt. Again, not hard enough to mark, though Misha kind of wants to push that line and see what he can get away with. 

He also wants Jared to stop dicking around with those hands. He nips at Jared’s earlobe and whispers, “I think you should make Jensen watch you undress me.”

Jared makes a sound that sounds a lot like what happens when “fuck” collides with gibberish and the physically moves Misha so he’s sitting on the bed. Like, boom: hands grabbing, body moving, go where you’re told kind of stuff. And Misha is definitely into the manhandling aspect here. Jared kneels beside him and licks his lips, then starts working Misha’s overshirt down his shoulders.

Jensen starts to sit up, but Jared waves him back. “Nuh-uh. Watch this.”

Misha’s shirt’s on the floor now, and Jared’s hands are under his tee, sliding it up slow, palms flat on his skin. He’s not just teasing Jensen -- and it is a tease because he can hear the hitch in Jen’s breathing -- but Jared’s being very sure to give him a taste of those hands while he puts on a show.

Jared drops Misha’s t-shirt on the floor. His gaze is almost as intense as the brush of his fingers. He cups Misha’s face, traces the muscles of his neck, palms his shoulders. His fingertips trace the bones of the joint, then glide down his chest, feather-light, down to his belly. They come to a rest at the waistband of Misha’s jeans. His thumbs press lightly against the buckle of his belt. 

It’s barely a movement, but the little tilt of Misha’s hips is all the signal Jared needs. The buckle opens under his fingers, and the button of Misha’s jeans, and then Jared’s got him flat on his back, kissing him while he inches open the zipper. 

“Oh Christ,” Jensen groans, and Misha breaks away from Jared’s mouth to look at him instead. He’s laying on his back, watching, one hand idly teasing the front of his jeans. Jared doesn’t seem bothered; his mouth simply moves down Misha’s neck and shoulder, joining Jared’s hands in exploring anything above the waistline of Misha’s underwear.

Misha reaches out for Jensen’s hand and laces their fingers together, squeezes. Jensen seems surprised, like he’s not expecting it, but he takes it as a signal to come closer. 

“Hey,” Jared teases as the two of them kiss beneath him. “I’m trying to get Misha’s pants off, here.”

“You got distracted by my iliac region.”

Jared blinks. “Your what?”

“Hipbones,” Jensen says against Misha’s lips. “Not that anybody’s judging.”

Misha digs his thumbs under his jeans and his underwear and pushes down. Jared takes the hint and pulls them both away, leaving him naked in the middle of the bed. 

Honestly, he ought to feel exposed and a little bit weird about this, but he doesn’t. Now he can feel everything completely: the blanket under him, and the soft flannel of Jensen’s shirt, and the sturdy fabric of Jared’s jeans. He loves how Jared pushes him up against Jensen so they’re front to front and kissing, legs in a tangle and hands just exploring each other. Jared presses up against his back and practically wraps around both of them while he grinds slow against Misha’s ass. 

Yeah, being naked is pretty fantastic.

Plus, there’s no way of hiding now that he’s hard, and that he’s eager, and that everything going on here feels good. Especially when Jensen looks him in the eyes and rests his left hand on Misha’s cheek and whispers, _go ahead._

He kisses Jensen’s palm where it meets his ring finger. It’s kind of overwhelming. He didn’t figure that either of them would notice the gesture, but Jensen not only saw, he figured it out and offered it up. 

Misha buries his hand in Jensen’s hair and kisses him so hard he’s pretty sure neither of them can breathe. They know each other’s mouths now -- softness and teeth and stubble -- and the press of lips and tongue feels so natural Misha wants to drown in it.

Jared squeezes them both, then nips at Misha’s neck. “What do you like? Hands? Mouths? Do you want to get fucked?”

“I want to know why you two are still wearing clothes.” He tugs at Jensen’s belt and unfastens it. Jared busts up laughing and tugs off his t-shirt. 

“Did I not say we should have told him about this sooner?” Jensen says as he shinnys out of his jeans and underwear. 

“I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

Misha grins. “I can think of a couple of ways to shut him up if you like.”

Jensen must take that as a cue, because he’s down between Misha’s knees almost before either of them realize where he’s going. And it’s kind of comical, because Jared and he just watch for a minute while Jensen kisses Misha’s thighs and nuzzles the crook of his leg. 

“You guys, seriously, the part where I suck Misha’s dick isn’t rocket science. If you two keep staring at me, this is gonna get awkward.”

Jared runs his fingers through Misha’s hair, guides their mouths together. 

And then Jensen’s mouth is on his cock. Misha hums his pleasure against Jared’s lips and tongue, and Jared’s fingers tighten in his hair. He reaches out blind to find Jared’s cock and grips it maybe a little more roughly than he intends, but Jared bucks into his hand like it’s the best thing he’s felt, and so Misha takes that as blanket permission to play a little rough with him. Not, like, death grip rough. Just, you know, harder strokes, maybe a little bit of thumbnail here and there.

Granted, he’s having a little bit of trouble focusing on being particularly precise about that given how hot and soft Jensen’s mouth is. He’s doing this thing where he’ll suck and start to pull off, then stop and then swirl his tongue and then _sweet mercy_ if the man has a gag reflex it is _not showing_ at the moment. 

The fact that Misha can’t yammer about this all porno-glossolalia-style because Jared’s tongue is still in his mouth is making things even hotter. Like he’s got zero choice here but to climb higher and higher without any sort of safety valves to slow the ascent. His free hand digs into the bedding hard enough he’s afraid he’ll rip a nail. 

His first words when Jared does break the kiss are barely even in English, and make absolutely zero literal sense, but they’re apparently hilarious because Jensen and Jared both crack up, and Jensen and has to stop the blowjob because he’s laughing so hard he almost falls off the edge of the bed.

“Was it something I said?” Misha manages, and sits up on his elbows as Jensen crawls up him on hands and knees to kiss him. The margarita salt is gone, but there’s a trace of something else a lot wickeder, something of _his_ , and he nips at Jensen’s lips.

“I want to kiss you while Jared opens me up,” he says between kisses. “Is that okay? Too weird?”

Misha shakes his head. “Definitely not too weird.”

“Okay.” 

Jensen and Misha scoot in closer to the middle of the bed while Jared gets the lube out of the nightstand. By the time he gets into place, they’re already kissing, slow and lazy. 

“Hey Mish? Do me a favor and stay hard, okay?” Jensen says. 

Misha nods and brings his hand in between them. He can actually touch both of them if he wants to, and he does, stroking himself, then switching to Jensen for a couple of strokes, enjoying the way Jen growls into his mouth when he does. 

He can tell when Jared’s fingers glide into Jensen’s ass because it’s like Jensen hits this whole other plane of existence. Rational thought leaves the building and his kisses go all dreamy and freeform and his eyelids flutter. When Misha strokes him, Jensen is all “yes” and “please” and “oh god.”

There’s a part of him, to be completely honest, that’s kind of jealous of Jensen for getting filled up like this by Jared’s fingers. It’s like, Misha had kind of been hoping he might get turned over and fucked rough with those hands. Seeing Jensen’s face like this, between kisses, he knows it’d be just as good as he’s been thinking it has to be. 

Then again, Jensen’s kissing _him_ , and murmuring sweet nonsense against his lips, and every time he rolls his eyes back, it’s _oh fuck, Misha_ that’s coming out of his mouth.

Jared leans in against Jensen. “You ready?” 

“Yeah,” Jensen says, and nods, his face still soft and dreamy. 

What happens is not what Misha expects. 

He expects them to fuck on top of him while he jerks off and plays with Jensen. 

He does not expect Jared to wrap his arms around Jensen, to kiss him with hot tenderness that’s got to be love-deep, and then lower Jensen down onto Misha’s cock.

Jensen murmurs something Misha doesn’t quite catch into Jared’s ear, then looks down at Misha with an expression of pure bliss. “God, you feel good, Mish. You feel so fucking good inside me.” 

Misha presses his head back against the pillow. “Fuck. Jensen. _Fuck._ ”

He rocks his hips up, slow and steady. Grips Jensen’s hips. Watches Jensen ride him. Kisses and sucks Jensen’s fingertips. Watches Jensen jerk himself in their rhythm. 

He hasn’t forgotten about Jared -- just try to forget a 6’4” man kneeling on the mattress and stroking his cock -- but Misha hasn’t figured out how to get him in here. He lets his eyes flick over, says his name, fully a question but also an acknowledgement that _yes, I know you’re here too_ , and an invitation to help figure things out. 

“I know,” Jared says, his lube-slick hand playing lazily at his glans. “Just trust me. I want to watch this.”

Misha nods, goes back to focusing on Jensen. 

Being friends with Jensen, working with him, he’s kind of forgotten how beautiful the man is. Like, objectively beautiful. He’s not delicate by any stretch, but he’s finely made, a balance between strong and wiry, with full lips and clear hazel eyes, a classic jaw, and freckled skin that flushes pink in moments like this. 

How anyone could not think Jensen is gorgeous just in general is beyond him. Even so, that regular, daily Jensen is nothing compared to him now, breathless and lost, ecstatic, practically radiating as he nears climax.

Misha hears the lube cap click, sees Jared move, doesn’t immediately register what’s going on until Jared’s straddling Misha’s thighs and pressed up behind Jensen and kissing his neck, grinding against his back. “You’re so good, Jen,” Jared whispers “So good, baby. That’s right. Keep going. Keep moving. Gonna come all over you, baby, just the way you like it. God, you’re so sexy.”

Jensen’s body lights up, moves like fire, ripples like silk in the wind, moves like the Platonic ideal of exotic dance. His eyes are glassy, opals reflecting fucking Heaven as he presses between Misha and Jared, like he knows he’s some kind of mythic goddamn axis, and when he comes it’s like human sacrifice because he’s giving his body over entirely to be consumed by them.

And Misha? Shit. He’s so far gone after that display that his orgasm feels like an echo of Jensen’s. And, like, he knows that Jared comes too, because there’s this indeterminate period of time that probably happens in order even if Misha’s too blissed out to really process it that way in which they all kind of collapse together into Jensen’s previously well-made bed, sweating and sticky and covered in Jared’s load, touching and panting and completed by one another.

“Told you,” Jensen manages.

Jared ignores him.

Misha reaches over the edge of the bed for his jeans, finds his phone in the pocket. 

“Tell me you’re not gonna,” Jensen says, laughing now, not scared like the other night. 

“Not exactly. C’mere.”

He pulls up his camera app, then puts one of Jared’s hands on the middle of his chest, then puts Jensen’s on top of it. He puts his own left hand over them, hiding Jared’s wedding ring and showing his own. He squeezes, then takes the selfie: just his face and chest, and all three hands, anonymous except for his own. 

He attaches it to a text, for Vicki’s eyes only, with four words: _thank you, perfect spouse_.

**Author's Note:**

> So as a rule, I am not an RPF guy. I find the concept a little strange, and have a certain level of discomfort pretending that real people are characters that I can do sexy things with in the same way I do with fictional ones. And yet, this idea happened, and I wanted to draw it out and see where it went, and by the end I'd spent a week of my life trying to do something emotionally honest with tools that challenged me. 
> 
> So, you know, Death to Normalcy and all that.
> 
> Thanks to 51stCenturyFox, who did not dissuade me even though she probably should have, and indulged me when I was like, "OH GOD, WHY AM I WRITING A LOVE LETTER TO THESE TWO STRANGERS' RELATIONSHIP INSTEAD OF WRITING NORMAL PORN LIKE A SENSIBLE PERSON?"


End file.
